


heat

by Amber



Series: Create Something Every Day! (October 2018) [13]
Category: The Magnus Archives (Podcast)
Genre: Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Alpha/Omega, Breeding, Conjugal Visit, Dead Dove: Do Not Eat, Do Not Archive, Exhibitionism, Knotting, M/M, Mating Cycles/In Heat, Mildly Dubious Consent, October Prompt Challenge, Prison, Prison Sex, Spoilers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-14
Updated: 2018-10-14
Packaged: 2019-08-02 08:19:05
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,643
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16301489
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Amber/pseuds/Amber
Summary: Prompt 14: Fire.(Or: the conjugal visit A/B/O fic absolutely no-one asked for. Contains spoilers for MAG 120.)





	heat

**Author's Note:**

> Dedicated to everyone who read that omorashi fic and was like, "Amber, you should write your id more often!"
> 
> Like, are you sure?

Martin can smell it, when he gets close enough. Evidently he's not the only one — as he passes the other solitary cells one man calls out crudely to him, grabs his crotch; others pace restlessly, trapped animals. The stocky guard grimaces at him apologetically; she's a beta, of course. "We're in the process of getting him transferred. Nobody realized he was — well, our medbay just isn't stocked for this kind of problem."

"Seems like an oversight," Martin says uncomfortably, glancing away. He catches the eyes of a prisoner who is watching him with hot interest, keyed up from the thick omega scent wagging through the air and too stubborn to admit it. A moment of camaraderie passes between them, some acknowledgement of the same primal suffering. Then the caged Alpha bares his teeth and snarls, and Martin looks away.

They've reached the problem in question. Elias sits prim and tight-lipped on his bed, legs neatly crossed, spine straight. He doesn't seem surprised to see Martin.

"Right then," says the guard. "Fix this. Or else he'll end up getting it fixed for him. Bouchard!" No longer addressing Martin. "Nose on the wall, you know the drill, yeah?"

Elias unfolds, elegant as origami, and goes to the wall. Kneels, nose against it, hands behind his neck. Martin can see now that the back of his prison-issue jumpsuit is sopping. And the _scent_ of it. Tropical heat, jungle musk and dripping, hazy humidity. But the fire it lights in Martin is dry and all-consuming.

"Wait," he says once the guard has entered and cuffed Elias' wrists, opened the door again for Martin to enter too. "Um. Aren't you going to— I mean, isn't there somewhere a little more private?"

She laughs, a harsh grunt. "What do you think this is, _Orange is the New Black_? Conjugal visits aren't legal, not even for an omega in heat. I don't know what you or Bouchard paid to get this time, but I'm not seeing a pound of it, so I'm not going to bend the rules an inch further than I've been told to, yeah?"

Martin blows out a slow, resigned breath. "Right," he says, wondering what Peter did pay to make this happen. "Right."

She slides the heavy door closed behind him. "Yell if you need anything, Mr Blackwood."

Elias is still kneeling, head bowed a little. Martin crosses, and then, awkwardly, touches a hand to his hair. It's barely anything, but it makes Elias shudder visibly, and he tips his head into it.

"You weren't who I was expecting," he admits. Martin pulls his hair lightly, because he can hear the underestimation in that and is annoyed by it, and Elias groans. "I just meant — I assumed Peter would come himself."

"Would you have liked that?" asked Martin, a little sharp. "He doesn't seem the merciful sort."

"And you are?" scoffs Elias, but there's an undercurrent of something in his voice. Martin feels dizzy just standing this close to him, the intense needy thick of it. Elias is still fucking kneeling. 

"I am," he says, surprisingly unlike himself in his certainty. "Come on. Let's do this on the bed. If we face away maybe we can pretend—"

"That the entire penitentiary isn't treating us as cable pornography?" Elias says wryly. He sounds disaffected. "Surely by now you're used to the feeling of being _watched_."

"You know. Now is not a great time to remind me of why I hate you," Martin points out with a sharper pull of Elias' hair. "Come _on_ , get _up_."

Elias doesn't, though. He turns on his knees, and presses his face into Martin's groin, snuffling there. He's erect — how could he not be, the cell smells like the most tantalizing sex. Elias rubs his face over the bulge of it, moans and tries to take it in his mouth without doing anything to free it. Martin stands struck still. It's one thing to be told you have to swoop in and save your ex-boss from getting gang-raped by prison Alphas — to feel guilty that he's having his heat in prison and it's sort of your fault, isn't it? But it's another entirely to have him mouthing at your cock through your trousers, desperate.

"Hey," he says, soothingly, because despite the unusual circumstances, this isn't his first rodeo. As it were. "Hey, hey, come on, enough of that. It's all right. I'll take care of you."

He coaxes Elias over to the bed; the man never leaves his knees. Martin sits on the edge and Elias buries his head in his lap and Martin just lets him, stroking his hair.

"I hate this," admits Elias, very quiet, into his thigh. "I have... always hated this."

Martin can imagine. He's usually so controlled, almost mechanical, and there was something puritanically sexless in the way he presented as the Head of the Institute. Not like Peter, who wields his new power like a flogger, caressing and whipping in turn. Peter who seems to want blood as much as he wants information. Elias doesn't seem like the sort of man who enjoys the rot and grotesquery of his human body, and he especially does not seem comfortable with a physical loss of control.

Martin scratches fingers through his thin hair. "Do you want to just suck me for a bit?" he offers, and Elias shudders again.

"Yes," he admits, pulls himself out of the lap with a force of will and looks up at Martin with honesty in the ice of his eyes. "But we both know that's not what I need. And we do not have unlimited time."

He has a point. "Over the bed, then. May I take your pants off?"

"Martin," grits Elias, audibly frustrated. "As lovely as I'm sure these questions would be under ordinary circumstances, you may consider me as having granted you blanket permission for _whatever_ you wish to do with me, so please just get on with it."

Martin is incredibly aware that they are being watched, as he pulls Elias onto the bed and starts to undress him. The lurid yellow and green jumpsuit comes off easily, mostly held by velcro, and he tosses it aside — Elias will need a fresh one anyway, after they're done here. Beneath is only a simple tight white t-shirt and a pair of boxers. He's in fairly good shape, for a man of his age — a man in one of the cells across from them wolf-whistles. Another yells a slur. Martin takes a deep breath, doesn't look to see who's watching, if they're masturbating, if the guards are. As aware as he is that they're not alone, he keeps his focus on Elias as he pulls his sopping underwear down.

"A little expedience, if you will," says Elias, polite but low, a burnished growl threaded through his usually pleasant diction. 

Martin swallows, realizes he's genuinely salivating. He's never really been a stereotypical pushy alpha, so he keeps his hands steady and his touch gentle, but he does shift his focus to getting this done. Arranges Elias face down and still cuffed over the scant frame of what passes for his bed, one hand cupping Elias' thigh to lift it, the other at his own flies. Like this the heat is visible, omega cunt all wet and swollen pink with need, a day's worth of fluid crusted down his legs and up the crease of his arse. Martin thinks with a distant censure behind the fog of instinct that the medical staff could have at least given him a plug or a tampon.

"Martin," Elias says again, snapping him out of just staring like a rutstruck knobhead during his first time. 

"Sorry, yeah," says Martin, patting the small of his back apologetically and then fishing out his cock. Someone is shouting something filthy and encouraging like this is a spectator sport, but Martin tunes out everything but the way it looks when he taps himself lightly against Elias' hole, then angles down and pushes inside of him.

The noise Elias makes when the head pops in is small and vulnerable, and Martin feels a sudden surge of protective instinct. The intoxicating scent in the air is engaging his hindbrain, and all he wants is to knot up his omega and breed him until it takes, keep him safe and close and precious. "Oh," he says softly. "Lovely, you're so good."

" _Don't_ ," Elias says roughly, fists clenching, and he impales himself relentlessly, taking what he needs from Martin. His hips undulate as he fucks himself there, rapid and shameless and noisy, and Martin's eyes are wide, his hands splayed against Elias' skin, watching his cock core into Elias' vulnerable places.

He flushes reflexively, and suddenly his awareness of their surroundings comes back to him. The familiar prickle of eyes watching. He wonders if Peter is one of their spectators — or, somewhere, somehow, Jon. Watching him, Martin, fumble sweaty-haired and earnest to fuck his former boss. Watching the way Elias has no shame, mouth pressing to his handcuffs in supplication.

"Sweetheart," Martin hears himself say, and watches Elias claw the bed in hot fury.

"Shut up," he manages to respond, cracked but oddly authoritative. "Shut up and fuck me properly. Or can you not even manage that?"

But Martin isn't cowed by Elias' condescension, just scoffs and leans forward, bracing an elbow sharp on Elias' spine, cock pressed deep enough to leave Elias shuddering and wordless. "Hands," he says, and, perhaps intuitively, perhaps because he can still read Martin's mind, Elias puts his hands behind his head again, and Martin grabs the chain of the cuffs and pulls. Elias grunts with pain as his arms are pulled back sharply, torso lifting off the bed, spine bowing.

There's a perfect tight heat building in Martin's belly and it's only whet by the noises Elias makes as Martin starts to fuck him again. The needy, pained keening seems pulled out of him. At this rate he's going to knot too soon — but he reminds himself that there is no too soon, that he needs to get this over and done with, cut their audience's enjoyment off at the knees.

"Breed 'im!" someone shouts, but is quickly silenced. The other prisoners have quietened some from earlier hooting — Martin suspects the correctional officers made some stern suggestions. The room is loud with their sex: the sound of their harsh breathing; his thighs against Elias' ass; the familiar, pornographic rhythm of a heat-slick hole being fucked so roughly and so deep. Elias is noisy, but Martin is quiet, no vocalizations except a low "Oh," when Elias' knees splay further and their center of gravity shifts again, his cock squeezed by tight heat.

When immediacy lances through his groin Martin slows, tries to catch his breath, but the air is all fire now, scorching his lungs. The polite thing to do — and he has always tried to be a polite alpha — would be to pull out. Knot Elias with his fist if that's what he needed. At the very least, he knows he should ask— 

Elias snarls. "Give it to me," he demands, throwing himself back into Martin with surprising strength, insides clenching and clinging, milking him. Martin moans, shaky, lost, and clutches at his waist, and comes shamefully, buried thick and deep in his cunt.

"Oh fuck," pants Elias, and Martin pulls him right back and into an embrace, smothering all those heat pheromones with his own. "Oh fucking hell, fuck."

The cursing isn't unwarranted. Martin's dick was big even before the knot; now it inflates steadily, an expanding mass that Elias's body physically gives way in order to take. Locking them together, plugging him up tight as he fills with come. He's incoherent with it, and Martin soothes him with hushing noises and little bites, one hand rubbing just below Elias' navel, the slight protrusion of an omega in heat. It feels warm and swollen there, and when Martin presses it Elias whimpers.

"Do you want to come?" Martin offers, because he can give Elias that much agency at least. Elias just groans, letting more of his weight fall pliant into Martin's arms. When Martin reaches down between his legs he realizes Elias has ejaculated already, a mess all over the bed — he got off at some point and just kept going. Martin plays with him anyway, teasing little touches that ripple up through Elias like fault lines, making his breath hitch wetly.

"Stop that," he manages weakly, the longest sentence he's managed to string together. Martin gives one last sharp pinch and does. "Just — focus on impregnating me, please."

Martin is riding a chemical euphoria, far too out of it to think about what a strange thing that is for Elias to say. 

Eventually their current position becomes untenable, and Martin shifts them back down into the damp mattress, manages to awkwardly get them to lie down, facing the wall in a last ditch attempt to preserve modesty.

"You almost done in there, Mr Blackwood?" comes the bored voice of the guard.

"Um," Martin says, has to clear his throat. "It might take a little longer for me to — go down."

"You _knotted him_? Jesus christ." She sounds unimpressed.

"He was in heat," Martin objects, sharp, suddenly feeling a hot rush of angry protectiveness for the man in his arms, the way he's been mistreated. He sits up a little, careful of his groin, and twists around with determined dignity. "And that reminds me. He'll need his cell cleaned and disinfected, his sheets changed, and a new clean uniform issued. Unless you want the rest of your prisoners riled up with the smell for the next week."

A long sigh, but: "Yeah, yeah. You've got a point. Right, I'll get that seen to. Try and get your knob to go down a little faster, my shift's almost up."

Martin huffs and returns to wrapping himself around Elias.

"You know, Martin," Elias remarks, "When you're angry enough that you forget to be anxious, you're almost interesting."

"Yeah? Well, when you're so fucked out of your mind you can't speak, you're almost tolerable," snipes Martin, maybe proving his point a little. Elias only laughs.

He does feel like kind of an idiot when his cock finally goes soft, and he unlatches with a last messy rush of fluid. Knotting and mating Elias Bouchard, what was he thinking? (Answer: he wasn't, not when all there was was heat.) "Right," he says, getting up and trying to tuck himself away without giving anyone more of a show than they've already got. To that end, he also cleans up Elias best he can with a sheet, helps him back into his boxers. "Um, so, that was all right, I suppose. Sorry about — knotting you, and everything. I'll try and have some toys bought for the prison medical so we don't have to go through that again."

"If you've done your job right, that won't be a problem," says Elias. He stands up nimbly, without the use of his hands, stretches like a cat. Flashes a taunting smile at the men in the cells across from him, as though aware that they've been watching and uncaring. Then he kneels back where he was when Martin came in, hands cuffed behind his head.

"Wait," says Martin, and he's not stupid, he knows what prevents a regular heat cycle. The guard is coming to let him out of the cell, but suddenly he's not ready. "Elias. You can't — you can't have a baby in this prison—" 

"You're quite right," agrees Elias. "Legally, they can't keep a pregnant omega in maximum security."

"Mr Blackwood," says the guard. "Out. We're done here."

Martin stumbles from the cell. Might be done here but he suspects with a cold dread that he's not done at all with Elias Bouchard.

**Author's Note:**

> Quick note: I am squicked by pregnancy fic so somebody else will have to take up the baton of any potential sequel.
> 
> And since I always forget to link, [here's me on tumblr](http://daisytonner.tumblr.com).


End file.
